Forever Gone?
by SherlockHouse
Summary: SH2 SPOILERS! STOP READING IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN SH2! After Holmes "dies", Watson is depressed and sad. When Holmes returns, what will Watson think? SH2 aftermath. Hopefully something to make it easier until SH3 ;
1. Holmes Homecoming

a/u: I love Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Laws chemistry, and I love Holmes and Watsons chemistry! Here's what I consider my most depressing story. It's a rewrite, so if you haven't seen the film (don't read this if you haven't) don't expect this to happen..  
><em><br>I watched him tumble over the side of the railing, the calmest of expressions on his face. His brown eyes were at peace, as if he was already mourning his life. I didn't know what I could do. I wanted to reach out, to jump over and grab him myself. I wanted to shout at him not to give up, that there was another way. But really, was there?  
>Holmes had dedicated everything to this case. He'd do anything to stop Moriarty, especially after what he did to Irene. But his life...I didn't care. The whole world could be destroyed piece by piece by Moriarty, but none of it would ever be worth my best friends life.<br>"Holmes!" I shouted, too late, he wouldn't hear me. All I could hear was a piercing scream, echoing off the mountains. Mycroft came running through the door behind me, my name slipping from his lips as a question.  
>I felt utterly and completely lost. Holmes was...gone. Surely the fall had killed him. I found myself gripping the railing, staring down at the waterfall. "Holmes," I whispered. No! He absolutely could not be gone. Gone, gone. No wedding gift to bring him back, no rhododendron leaf to slow his heart beat, not a false hanging, he was gone. Damn Moriarty!<br>Damn him for taking my friends life! Damn him for ruining mine! I felt the tears slip down my cheeks, tears a soldier should not be crying. But what was the point of being who I was when I had lost one of the most important people in my life? What was the point of carrying on?_

_MARY_

_Weeks had passed, yet there was John, sitting in that window seat, staring off into space, tears occasionally leaking from his eyes. Mr. Holmes was his best friend, and lately his only friend. His passing only brought sadness and cruelness into Johns existent. I had no way of getting him out of his rut. What was I to do? He'd never be whole again, because a piece of him was missing. Holmes was missing.  
>"Mr. Watson, I just got a call, the funeral is in two days," Misses Hudson informed John one morning. She had started working here after Holmes died, away for Watson to feel closer to him.<br>The bodies had mysteriously disappeared from the falls, making it even harder on John, and after a lost battle, they gave up on finding them, and had prepared the funeral. "Thank you, Misses Hudson," I murmured, giving her a small smile.  
>"Don't worry, I miss him too." She winked at me, and I smiled wider.<br>"I just didn't think I would," I admitted, and we shared a small round of chuckles, something I hadn't done in weeks!_

_WATSON_

_The funeral had come round. I had heard Misses Hudson speak of it two days ago. Mary and her had laughed about something afterwards, whatever could be funny remained a mystery to me.  
>People were starting to talk, saying how I was depressed, or I needed help. Did they expect me to be jumping for joy? Happy to finally be rid of the man named Sherlock Holmes?<br>As I practiced my speech in my head, and the sad music played throughout the church, I suddenly remembered this would be my first time speaking for what seemed like forever. How long had it been now? Two weeks? Funny how time could fly when a loved one had passed.  
>"Mr. John Watson," the man standing at the front of the room called. "He would like to say a few words." I swallowed the lump in my throat, annoyed to find it still lurking there.<br>I limped up to the front of the room, tears threatening to fall from my eyes. As I approached the podium, I suddenly felt the worried eyes on me. I cleared my throat and began to read the scrawl off the small piece of paper I held in front of me.  
>"I was closer to Holmes, then I assume most people are. I knew his methods, his tactics, and the way that twisted mind of his operated. Though I'm sure he knew more of me then I do of everyone in this very room." I finished with the detective aspect of the speech, continuing on to the more emotional parts. "I loved him like a brother. I considered him my brother. My sometime annoying, irritating, erratic brother, but my brother all the same.<br>"I am lost without him. But Holmes will never be dead to me. He will always be alive, in one way or another." I could feel the humiliating tears roll down my broken face. "Thank you," I whispered, limping off, needing to be as far away as possible._

_Months passed, time passed, even when it was impossible, even without my best man by my side. Holmes was gone, I had learned to live with it, but I would never except it. Because truly, you can live with anything, I will not end my life because of another's. That didn't mean I had to except it though. I would not. I would never.  
>As I wrote each journey Holmes and I went on together, I could feel some of the sadness that I had felt months ago creep back in. I tried my best to keep it out, but sometimes sadness was the key to a good story. Finally, I typed, The End, after a description of exactly how passionate Holmes had been about his work.<br>Suddenly, Mary came in with a box, clearly delivered by a postman. We exchanged a few words, and she left at last, and I turned to the package. I carefully opened it, and bit my lip when it revealed a small box. I slid the lid off the top, and felt my eyes bulge out at the sight before me.  
>There was something Holmes had found and spoke of at his brothers home. It was Mycroft's oxygen replacement. I examined it quietly, then shouted to Mary as to who delivered it. "The postman!" she shouted back.<br>"Did he look a little strange?" I strode out of the room to consult her further._

_HOLMES_

_I came out of the chair, stretching the smallest bit as I recovered from the rather uncomfortable position. I hurried over to read what Watson had just finished writing. I smiled at the wonderful words he used to describe when saying how wonderful a detective I was, and a friend. As I read the last two words, The End, a thought crossed my mind.  
>The End?<br>I smiled at the finished piece and hurried once again, to meet what would surely be a furious Watson.  
>How ever would he forgive me for <em>this_?_

_WATSON_

_"It's just-" I tried to explain why I was acting so peculiar about the package, when Mary smiled.  
>"Maybe Mycroft was feeling a bit generous?" a familiar voice suggested. I spun around and felt my face drop in horror. A ghost! Could it be! That face, the hair, the voice, the eyes, the untraditional clothes, the way he held himself.<br>"Holmes?" whispered I. He smiled crookedly at me, and I found myself running up to him and wrapping my arms around his torso._

a/u: SO, should I continue? I LOVE writing for Sherlock Holmes (especially this piece) it's so fun! I tried to keep it somewhat like the books, but that's rather difficult saying as I am not a English man living in 1886. Should I continue? I want to see your responses to this, so please, review! Should I continue! __


	2. Watsons Reaction

_HOLMES_

I had imagined Watson's reactions to my homecoming time and time again. I thought he would present himself as angry, but his eyes would reveal all of his secrets. However, he looked relieved, as if he had been anticipating this moment for...forever. It was one of the first times he took me by surprise. "Holmes!" he cried into my shoulder.  
>"Careful Watson, this is a nice overcoat. Let's not ruin it," I muttered as his arms made an almost uncomfortable grip around my body. I looked around the room, a rather disgusted look on my face, as if I had smelt a rotten fruit. Mary glared at me, her eyebrows furrowing. I wondered if she was still mad at me about the whole, "I threw you off a moving train," incident.<br>"How are you even alive? I thought the fall killed you!"  
>"Didn't think you could get rid of me that easily, did you Watson? It appears you were simply looking for an easy way out of being my friend." He laughed, and sighed, his face still buried in my shoulder. I felt this oddly comforting, and I was reminded of why I came back to London.<br>"I've missed you, Holmes."  
>"I could say the same to you." It was silent for a moment, as Watson backed off a little, staring at me with a queer look on his face. I felt an uncomfortable stinging in my cheek suddenly, and looked back to find Watson with anger glistening in his eyes. My hand met my cheek, and I winced. What a nice homecoming gift.<br>"Why didn't you call? You could've told me! We had a funeral, we mourned you, I thought you were dead, Holmes!" There was the Watson I was expecting.  
>"It would be rather inconvenient for anyone to know I was breathing. I even had to wear a disguise every time I left the house." At this I laughed, and found Mary chuckling behind Watson. But Watson could be less interested in her at the moment.<br>"Oh, I'm sure you absolutely loved that."  
>"I did," I retorted almost instantly. How easy it was to be with Watson and know his every word before he uttered it even after three months, didn't surprise me-I was starting to believe the element of surprise was invented by some lunatic, not in their right mind-and I was happy to fall back into the familiar pattern.<br>"Where did you stay then, if you weren't sleeping in my spare bedroom?" I hardly slept in Watson's spare bedroom. I brushed that comment off, something I stored away in my brain to be discussed later.  
>"With my brother, Mycroft."<br>"Of course it was your brother. The only people who can stand you are me and your family-and they only put up with you because they have to!"  
>"Well that was rude." I turned to Mary to see her reaction, hoping she'd distract him from this God awful rant. Unfortunately, Mary appeared to be absent. Excellent. Perhaps if I apologized for the whole train situation she'd return? "Mary?" I called, strolling away from Watson.<br>"Don't walk away, Holmes!"  
>"Oh Mary?"<br>"Mr. Holmes!" the Nanny greeted me. It had been awhile since I'd seen her wrinkled face.  
>"Hello, Nanny," distaste laced my tone. She laughed, and my eyes narrowed. Apparently, these people were going to be too happy to have me back unless I got them so furious they<p>

wanted _me to be dead-except for Watson of course._

WATSON

The utter shock of seeing Holmes face once more had left me speechless. I found myself more cheerful than ever, yet speechless all the same. I couldn't believe he was back, I mean, it was impossible! "Don't think my cheerfulness is a free ticket out of hell, Holmes," I warned him.  
>"Oh, well by all means, fire away whenever you like." I smiled, a little dumbfounded, but tried to keep that smile on my face.<br>Holmes went back to residing at 221b Baker Street. Anonymous buyers had been interested, and were in possession immediately. "Yes, Mycroft helped me buy it, since of course, I had nothing."  
>"Of course." Holmes worked on minor cases for months, dilly dallying with the silly ones that Inspector Stroud should've been able to figure out himself, but he was happy to help. What else was he to do? After Moriarty's case, everybody was surely scared to do anything that would leave Holmes looking for clues.<br>"It's ridiculous the cases Stroud has me working. My senses need to be sharpened, not dulled. These cases are not for a mind as sharp as my own," Holmes complained one afternoon while I visited.  
>"Well you're lucky you're not lounging 'round the apartment again, smoking that damn pipe of yours all day."<br>"I suppose."

HOLMES

I strolled down the street, a rather uncomfortable wig on my head, and a false nose planted atop my real one. Why one would invent such items was beyond me. I hurried to the hospital, practically running through the door. "Sir, can you come over here for a moment please?" a young fellow asked. He was up to something, I could smell it.  
>"Sorry, I'm a bit busy." I continued on, looking for Irene.<br>"Sir, I'm going to need you to step over here, please." A flick of my wrist would send him writhing in pain on the floor. It was so simple. I punched him square in the jaw, a punch that was sure to leave a mark. He stumbled back to his feet, to face me.

A punch to the stomach, leaves him falling to his knees in pain, holding his middle, while his knees are available, kick them from underneath him. Face plant. Victim rolls over, breathing ragged, kick side, breaking rib, making it nearly impossible to retaliate.  
><em>I did as I planned, leaving him rolling around like a trained dog on the hospital floor. I was lucky no one was round to see such a thing. I hurried on to Irene's room, anxious to see the woman I had once loved, and possibly still did.<em>

**a/u: anybody want a continuation! I was really happy with the reviews I got on the last one, and I actually wrote this chapter after the first one, so it's a bit short, but it's just cause they're really fun! LOL! So should I continue with Irene and Holmes and what would happen there? I don't want to believe she's dead, so I wrote her back in! Please let me know your thoughts! REVIEW!**


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